L'Espion
by Das War Schon Kaputt
Summary: In which Kurt is a better spy than anyone ever gave him credit for and destroying the Dalton Academy Warblers is much, much harder than Kurt ever thought it would be.


**L'Espion**

* * *

**Summary**: AU. New Directions are firm believers in integrity and _earning _their places in competitions by their own merit. They're also firm believers in _not _being screwed over by a bunch of a cappella prep school boys in blazers and silk ties. Or, in which Kurt is a much better spy than anyone ever suspected and destroying the Dalton Academy Warblers is much harder than he ever thought it would be.

* * *

Kurt takes a deep breath and steels his face into an expressionless mask. He can do this. He isn't Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole, down into Wonderland. He's Kurt Hummel. Kurt _fucking _Hummel, a cheerleader, a football player, a singer, a mechanic and now, it seems, a spy.

Kurt stares up at the ornate wrought iron gates, admiring the way the 'D' is twisted into the design.

He's Kurt Hummel and he can do this.

Kurt adjusts his tie one last time and then steps forth onto the grounds of Dalton Academy.

* * *

The headmaster – because, somehow calling this man a principal seems wrong – is kind of what Kurt had always expected for a man of his profession. There's an air about him, like whatever Kurt does is never going to be enough to even so much as blip on his radar, because he's just so _above _teenage antics and childish games.

He's domineering and powerful and it makes Kurt wonder not for the first time if this is perhaps not the best idea he's ever had.

"Kurt," Mr Pulpart says, his tone so neutral it nearly kills the boy sat opposite him. "You're transferring here from McKinley High in Lima, am I right?"

"Yes," Kurt replies, so glad he's found his voice in time that he almost forgets to add a respectful, "sir," tacked onto the end.

Mr Pulpart shuffles some of his papers on his desk. Kurt suspects it's a gesture of habit more than anything else.

"It's a rather unusual time for a transfer," the headmaster states, "but then again I understand that the circumstances surrounding your transfer are, ah, how to put it, rather unique, am I correct?"

And then the bile rises to the back of Kurt's throat. He can barely swallow it back down before he nods, saying a curt, "Yes sir."

When Mr Pulpart changes the conversation topic to his almost flawless fluency in French and his startling competency with Spanish, Kurt is more than happy for the change. He babbles nonsensically for a few minutes about liking languages and then blushes slightly when the headmaster mentions his other stellar grades.

He can feel proud about those, right?

He earned those grades.

It's just… No one at McKinley had ever so much as given him a thumbs up for them.

And then, at the end of the meeting, Mr Pulpart's eyes soften and he tells Kurt that no matter what, Dalton will always be a safe haven to those who need it.

He signs a piece of embossed paper with a flourish and hands it over. Kurt takes it numbly and sort of drifts out of the office.

It's only when he's standing at the secretary's desk, waiting on his time table and map that he looks down at the certificate and feels his stomach twist in guilt.

* * *

_Dalton Academy Scholarships for Excellence_

_Kurt Hummel_

_"Caritas, Humilitas, Sinceritas."_

* * *

Kurt can't even remember the comment that started it all, but it eventually boiled down to two things:

First, there was the fact that Kurt isn't safe anymore at McKinley. After the _incident, _Kurt had ended up having a panic attack in the parking lot on his first day back at school, only to have his body smashed up against the bonnet of his car by some dumbass jock.

And second, although New Directions believes heavily in integrity whilst competing – Mr Schue had practically hammered it into their collective skulls – they are also firm believers in _not _being screwed over by a bunch of 'ooh'-ing and 'bop'-ing prep school boys in blazers and silk ties.

What it all boils down to is basically this: a pre-emptive strike.

They are _not _going to sit around and wait for some smooth-talking jerk with great hair to dance his way into their lives, flirt with one of the key members of their group, and then subsequently humiliate said key member, all the while breaking their heart and a whole load of out-of-date eggs.

So, and Kurt never ever thought he would be saying this, but New Directions decided to pull a Jesse St James.

And it's him playing the smooth-talking jerk with the great hair, dancing into the lives of the Warblers – Dalton's Glee Club.

Now, Kurt doesn't mind several things about his job description. For one, he knows he can _dance. _He wasn't a cheerleader for nothing, after all. Secondly, it's pretty much a truth universally acknowledged that his hair is greater than great – it's perfect. It's the other two qualities he has a problem with.

Smooth-talking? Kurt? Try bitchy and acidic. But that's not what he has his major qualms about.

Because any way he looks at this, this is such a jerk thing to do. He's playing pretend with these people's lives. Who knows? Maybe these guys are like the New Directions, a mis-matched collection of eccentrics and outcasts, struggling to even afford simple things like travel to competitions. Maybe he's trashing their chances at New York dreams. Maybe he's shutting down their Glee Club because they can't garner enough popularity for it to continue.

But Kurt says none of that.

Not out loud, not to ND, not to his diary, not even to his father, who's just ecstatic Kurt found a way to get away from McKinley which isn't going to bankrupt everyone involved.

He said he'd do this and if there is one thing Kurt Hummel is not, it's a coward.

So, he places his scholarship certificate in a see-through plastic wallet, snaps a photo of it and sends it to his dad, and then collects his timetable and map and leaves the secretary for the grandiose halls of Dalton Academy.

* * *

Dalton Academy is not what Kurt expected in the slightest.

And he means that in the nicest way possible, but this… this is so much rowdier than he ever even suspected.

Students are brushing past him at alarming pace, all of them practically sprinting down the main staircase and down a side corridor towards what his map says is the "Commons".

For seconds, he just stands there, watching the chaos and the pure boyish-ness of it all, before he shakes out of it. Smooth-talking jerk, he reminds himself, and reaches out and stops the next boy as he passes.

The student turns immediately and – _wow._

This guy is gorgeous – no joke. With hazel eyes that Kurt kind of wants to drown in, and an infectious grin that refuses to go away, and half-tamed wavy black hair, this is the kind of guy that makes Kurt think it's criminal if he's not gay.

Kurt finds his voice. "Hey," he says. "I'm new here." He pauses and sticks out his hand. "Kurt."

"Oh," Dreamy McDreamy says. "Cool. I'm Blaine and Dalton's not normally this crazy, I swear." He laughs good-naturedly and Kurt thinks, **_Good_** _God, stop or I'll melt._

"So, can I help you with something?" Blaine asks.

"Uh, yeah," Kurt says, trying not to stumble over his syllables. "What's going on? I mean, are the students always this psyched for lessons, or..?"

"Oh, goodness no," Blaine quickly denies. "Nothing like that. Actually, the Warblers – they're our school's Glee Club – are kinda throwing an impromptu performance down in the Commons. Tends to shut the school down for a bit."

"Glee Club here is cool?" Kurt can't help but choke out.

"Of course." Blaine says it like it's the simplest, most obvious thing ever, like, _the sky is blue, Kurt, duh. _"The Warblers are like rockstars." A devious smile crosses Blaine's face. "Hey, you wanna watch?"

Kurt barely manages to nod in confirmation before Blaine is taking his hand in his own and half-dragging, half-leading him down a corridor, and Kurt thinks, then and there, that if this is what Dalton is like, then _why the hell hadn't he transferred sooner?_

Because at McKinley, no one just _grabs _Kurt's hand. No one touches him like he's person and not some kind of infectious disease. Like just placing a hand on him for something other than a punch, or locker shove, or dumpster dive, is going to give them _whatever freaky thing _he has that makes him gay.

And then he watches Blaine song-flirt with him all the way through an upbeat Katy Perry number and can barely suppress the building blush on his cheeks.

OK, let's be clear, Kurt's always been pretty anti the whole 'singing you a love song solves all problems' thesis ND is probably working on under the radar. It always seemed to him to be an easy way out of everything, when talking was the better, if not harder option. Because singing can do a lot of things, but it can't fix everything and it can't make someone who doesn't love you fall for you all over again.

Yeah. Kurt's pretty much eating his words.

Because as Blaine bounces up to him, belting it out about a _"teenage dream tonight", _Kurt is pretty sure he is falling just the teensiest, tiniest bit in love.

And then Blaine looks directly at him, full of energy, eyes bright and unguarded.

Yeah. He's so, so screwed.

* * *

_So, Caritas, Humilitas, Sinceritas was my old school motto, meaning Charity, Humility, Sincerity (very loosely translated) and it just seems like such a Dalton thing to have as a motto, so there._

_I don't know how it works in America, but at my school, it was always possible to get financial help to attend it, if you had the brains and grades, with scholarships and bursaries available. I know this was the case because I, myself, was a scholar. So, Kurt's on scholarship. Deal with it._

_This is supposed to be something different. As you can probably tell, I'm experimenting with the present tense. I already dislike it._

_Kaputt_


End file.
